


Certain Predilections

by PatternsInThread



Series: Axii Fics [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Brief knifeplay, Coming Untouched, Consensual Mind Control, Dubious Consent Fantasy, Inappropriate use of Axii, Jaskier's having some very nice time to himself, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Fantasy, Under-negotiated Kink, fantasy also contains, the fantasy stops being dubcon fairly quickly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:48:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24929443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatternsInThread/pseuds/PatternsInThread
Summary: It took Jaskier approximately eight years and two months of knowing Geralt to find out that Axii existed.It took Jaskier approximately eight years, two months, and two seconds of knowing Geralt to realize that Axii wasincredibly hot.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Axii Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804177
Comments: 53
Kudos: 541





	Certain Predilections

**Author's Note:**

> They were supposed to actually fuck in this. I swear they were supposed to. But that did Not happen, clearly. Hope you enjoy regardless ;)
> 
> There will definitely be a followup where they actually fuck, I promise
> 
> No warnings that aren't covered by the tags, I think, but lemme know if I missed something. Maybe brief discussion of a canon-typical case as setup? Idk if I need to warn for that. Normally I wouldn't but, yknow, that's not what you came here expecting ;)

It took Jaskier approximately eight years and two months of knowing Geralt to find out that Axii existed.

It took Jaskier approximately eight years, two months, and two seconds of knowing Geralt to realize that Axii was _incredibly hot_.

He already knew, of course, that he had that particular predilection, even if he was unlikely to ever lay with a mage and make a certain type of fantasy a reality.

But he found out Geralt could control minds, and his dick started hardening _immediately_.

Which had been awkward, because Geralt had been in the middle of a contract, and Jaskier had only found out because Geralt had ended up having to use Axii on a merchant _in front of him_ , and it was really a tense situation with lying and potential death—the wrong kind of tense, all told—and Jaskier’s dick had absolutely no business acting up in those circumstances.

Not that Jaskier had ever been much bothered by what his dick should or shouldn’t do. But he’d been traveling with Geralt for eight years at that point, knew perfectly well that the witcher could smell emotions, _including arousal_ —

It had been an awkward day. Jaskier had ducked away as soon as he could and desperately jerked himself off behind a barn, remembering the glazed look in the merchant’s eyes, the way the man’s tone had hollowed out as he answered Geralt’s every question without hesitation, without a hint of calculation or self-awareness.

 _“Were you lying to me?”_ Geralt had asked.

And, _“Yes,"_ the man had said, his eyes unfocused and his face undisturbed.

The circumstances of the contract had been far from arousing—but merchant had had much to lose, trying to trick his business rival into dying at the hands of a monster. Nothing a man would ever want to confess, much less to the witcher investigating.

And Geralt had pulled the truth from him like it was nothing.

A flick of the hand. The slightest wavering in the air. The man’s face going slack, his anger and defensiveness fading away.

Jaskier had never held much back from his own speech—never saw the point, for most of it, except a handful of things like his attraction toward the witcher.

The attraction he’d never confess to, but that Geralt could pull from him with a flick of his fingers.

 _“Why do you always smell like lust when I’m near?”_ or _“Why do you keep staring at me in the bath, bard?”_ or _“Do you always have to change your clothes so slowly?”_

Or _“Do you really think I didn’t notice you getting hard while I controlled that man’s mind?”_

And Jaskier, caught in Axii, would have no choice but to answer, no choice but to say, _“Because I want you,”_ and _“Because I want to bite my way down your chest,”_ and _“Absolutely not.”_

And to say, _“I hoped you hadn’t._ ”

But that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? Or would it, Jaskier didn’t even know—

But in the safety of his own mind, the thought of saying _No, I didn't_ , of saying _I never thought I could fool you_ and _Aren’t I transparent?_ and _I wanted you to know, I wanted to you know and take control of_ me—

He choked down a moan at the thought.

And Geralt would _be_ in control, Geralt would look at him and smirk and say, _“Well, you got your wish.”_

They’d be at camp, when it happened. Out in the woods, Geralt having waited until they were a day out of town. Well away from the road for safety, protected by the forest.

No one would be able to see anything Geralt did to him. Or anything Jaskier did in return.

Jaskier picked up the pace, pushing his hips back and thrusting deeper into his palm at the thought of being helpless, so helpless but so safe—

Geralt would lean in, smirk still on his face, and pin Jaskier’s back against the bark of a tree, the same way that Jaskier’s back was against the wood of the barn. He’d lean in and murmur in Jaskier’s ear, _“Tell me if you want to stop,”_ an order as much as the others, because even in his dirtiest fantasies Jaskier was hard-pressed to imagine Geralt as anything but decent.

Geralt would give him that order, and Jaskier would stay silent, because _oh_ , how he _wanted._ He pressed back against the wall of the barn, imagined it was the tree. Imagined Geralt’s strong arm across his chest, unmovable by human strength even if Jaskier tried—

But Jaskier wouldn’t want to try. He’d be pliant and open under Geralt’s control.

He might not even know something was wrong, Jaskier thought, gripping tighter as he dragged a hand along the underside of his cock. Might not know he was being controlled at all, the merchant hadn’t seemed to, had just done as Geralt asked and gone back to his business afterward, no realization that anything was wrong. Not that he’d forgotten them, but as if he had forgotten there was a reason he shouldn’t have betrayed himself.

Shouldn’t have done as he was ordered.

Would Jaskier be the same? Would he know that he was being controlled, having his will stripped from him, or would he be completely oblivious, calm and content, despite knowing what Axii was, despite having seen Geralt cast it?

Jaskier wasn’t sure which would be hotter.

But no, no, it was definitely the thought of knowing, knowing and being helpless to stop it, his body following Geralt’s whims without his conscious orders, knowing he couldn’t help but want what Geralt told him to and wanting it anyway—

 _Fuck_. It was too much and not enough, Jaskier took his other hand from where it was braced against the wall and reached down to cup his balls—

Then had a far more brilliant idea and reached up instead, tangled his free hand in his own hair as his thumb slid over his slit.

Geralt would pull his hair. Geralt would have no need to pull his hair, not when Jaskier was standing there, frozen and entranced. But he would anyway, smirking the whole time, just to emphasize his control, the way Jaskier was bound to his will, body and mind.

Jaskier’s cock was throbbing with pleasure as he thrust into his hand longer and deeper. Absurdly worked up, when he hadn’t even imagined clothes coming off.

But what a thought that was—Geralt cutting off the buttons on his doublet, ordering him to sew them back on later, while his ass warmed Geralt’s cock—

And Jaskier would never be so frivolous with his own clothes, not when fine clothing was so expensive, but if Geralt used Axii it wouldn’t matter, if Geralt used Axii, he could order Jaskier to slice through the buttons himself, and Jaskier would, he’d do it without a thought.

Anything to follow Geralt’s orders. To obey the compulsion. To give Geralt pleasure.

Then Geralt would do the same to Jaskier’s breeches, order him to slash the buttons off, being careful of the _treasure within_ , and Jaskier would, he’d be so careful with the knife over his cock, even as it gave him the only pressure he’d gotten yet.

Then Geralt would tell him to hand it over, tone casual as anything, and Jaskier would obey as it if were the most dire of orders.

Then Geralt would say, _“Pull out your cock.”_

And Jaskier would shiver even under Geralt’s control hard and aching and so, so ready for relief—

Geralt would smirk wider, tilt his head just so, and say, _“Do not touch yourself.”_

Jaskier whined in real life as he whined in his thoughts. He’d want to touch his dick, he’d want it more than anything, but the second Geralt said that, the desire would vanish. Muted to a hum in his blood and the back of his mind, having just a second to know what he was losing before his hand fell away from his cock and he stood, length hard and long and fully exposed.

But it wouldn’t matter. His mind would be clay in Geralt’s hands, and what could be more exposed than that?

Maybe he’d be aware of his thwarted intentions, even as he no longer desired to carry them out. Maybe he’d be aware but mindless, caught in obedience, waiting to do Geralt’s will.

And Geralt would say, _“On your knees,”_ and Jaskier’s knees would collapse almost before the order made him, but not quite, because he couldn’t act except on Geralt’s orders.

But he’d want to be on his knees for Geralt. Had for years, and the thought of Axii only added a new dimension of temptation.

And Jaskier would sit there, on his knees, still as a stone, still as he never was on his own, as he certainly wasn’t outside the fantasy as he thrust faster, twisting his hands and feeling a full-body shiver and the delicious friction. Waiting, cock hard and full and thick, but not touching, not his cock nor anywhere else on his body, because Geralt’s order hadn’t been specific.

Geralt would reach down and undo his own laces, slower than Jaskier had ever seen him undress, not putting on a show but going so slowly, drawing it out. Staring Jaskier straight in the glazed-out eyes and not looking away for anything.

Jaskier would sit there, waiting, receptive, to be used. A vessel for orders and a vessel for cock.

At long last Geralt would pull out his enormous length—and it truly was enormous, Jaskier had seen it, had spent years trying not to stare, trying to stop his mouth from watering, as it did even at the mental image.

Taking his hand from his hair, Jaskier almost whined at the self-inflicted loss of pleasure, but took the second to stick his fingers in his mouth, sucking them, wetting them, _oh_ , dragging his teeth over the texture of his fingerprints, going deeper then to wet them thoroughly, pulling out and licking a stripe up his hand, then sticking it straight on his cock, smoothing out the edge of heat and friction with his own spit, relishing in how it let him go faster—

But in his mind it would be Geralt’s dick getting wet, as Geralt stared tauntingly into Jaskier’s eyes and told him, _“Suck.”_

And Jaskier would. Geralt would tangle his hands in Jaskier’s hair again, but not tight. He wouldn’t need to grip tightly. All he’d need to do is say, _“Move your head to follow my hands.”_ And Jaskier would.

He’d feel Geralt’s hands pressing him in and he’d swallow all of the witcher’s cock in one go.

He’d be able to, the benefit of so very much experience, and Geralt would know that, Geralt wasn’t even around for half the people he’s fucked but even that half was more than enough.

But maybe he’d take it even if he wasn’t experienced—and a person would need experience, because it truly was a beautiful, enormous cock. Jaskier swallowed, mouth working unconsciously at the thought of something in it, of _Geralt_ in it, so heavy and warm and precum-salty and _perfect_.

He’d taken as big, even bigger. He’d spent ages working down his gag reflex to best please his lovers, to best please himself, because he _loved_ sucking cock, loved sitting at another man’s knees and _serving_ them.

But if he hadn’t. If he hadn’t been experienced. Maybe it wouldn’t matter. Maybe all Geralt would need to do was tell him not to gag, and the rumbling bass of his voice would latch in Jaskier’s mind and go straight to his throat. And his dick. Maybe Axii could command someone to take actions beyond their conscious capabilities.

He’d never know. Not unless he asked, or unless Geralt caught him and Axii’d him and pinned him against a tree.

Geralt would keep Jaskier’s thrusts short, keeping the pressure on his jaw and the walls of his throat. Geralt would let up just enough to get what he needed, no more, keeping Jaskier’s mouth busy.

And his mouth _would_ be busy. Expertly so. Geralt knew that, half the Continent probably knew that. Even with Geralt’s hold on his mind, Jaskier would still be able to please. It wouldn’t matter if the Sign took away his reasoning, robbed him of his higher thoughts.

He’d suck Geralt’s cock on instinct if he needed to. And he’d do so expertly.

Jaskier would sink further and further into Geralt’s thrall, and as he did, Geralt’s hands would tighten on his hair. Jaskier’s hands tightened in his own in a faint echo of the pleasure that would give, but it was still so _good_ , the tension firm against his scalp, pulling his head back as he leaned further into the barn wall. As his other hand pulled on his cock, twisting each time at the head.

And Geralt would see him descending, see Jaskier give up as much consciousness as he could, reduced to a puppet and happy to be one. And Geralt would know it was time.

He’d speed up, pulling further out with each thrust. Giving Jaskier the space to adjust but none of the time. And Jaskier would sit there and take him, sucking as much as he could with Geralt’s pace.

Every thought focused on Geralt’s order: _Suck_. None on his hands, lying gently at his sides. None on his aching dick, leaking precome and completely untouched. Harder, for the way Geralt _used_ him.

Geralt would drive into his mouth again and again. Jaskier sped up his own hand, moved it at the pace he imagined Geralt plunging into this mouth.

Geralt would thrust in deeper, his cock pressing against the back of Jaskier’s throat, until even all his training to suppress his gag reflex started to fail him. His throat would convulse around Geralt, muscles working and trembling—

That’s when Geralt would come down his throat.

Jaskier would swallow, head still pressed down on Geralt’s cock. Geralt’s hands would hold him there and Jaskier would be unable to pull up if he’d wanted to, which he _absolutely_ would not, because _gods_ —

He’d swallow it all down and when Geralt was done he’d lift Jaskier up off him and leave Jaskier kneeling there, cock untouched and burning with it. Unable to touch. Unable to do anything but stare into Geralt’s eyes, and loving it.

Then Geralt’s smirk, wiped out by the pleasure of sex, would tug at his mouth. And Geralt would look down on him and say, _“Jaskier. Come.”_

Jaskier’s body would obey. He’d spend his load untouched, shuddering as the pleasure wracked his body—as it _was_ wracking his body, the one pressed back against the barn, as he worked himself up to the edge closer, closer—

And over it.

In his thoughts, he was trembling as the aftershocks came on. Utterly wrecked by the simple act of sucking someone else off. And being commanded to come.

And Geralt wouldn’t touch his cock, wouldn’t stroke it through the aftershocks as Jaskier was doing to his own length.

Geralt would lean forward, ever so slightly. Reach out and cup his hand against Jaskier’s cheek, so soft, so gentle. Jaskier would turn and kiss his palm, mouth sloppy with the aftermath of orgasm.

And Geralt would smile, that tender, little smile that he wore so rarely. _“You were so good for me, Jaskier,”_ he’d say, and Jaskier wouldn’t even care he’d had no choice but to be good, he’d light up at the praise anyway.

 _“You were so good_ to _me,”_ Jaskier would murmur back, filled with an orgasm high and courage he definitely did not have in real life. And Geralt would gather Jaskier in his arms and carry Jaskier over to their bedrolls, and curl up next to him.

In real life, Jaskier let out a long, slow sigh, letting his limbs finally relax and putting most of his weight on the wall behind him. In a few minutes he’d gather himself back in his breeches and kick some dirt over his spend, lying there on the ground, blatant as anything. It was a good thing the barn was at the very, very edge of town, really.

And when he looked like he hadn’t just jacked off to the thought of his best friend mind controlling him, he’d go find Geralt and go back to business as usual.

Well. _Mostly_ as usual. He really needed to find a way to see Geralt use Axii again.


End file.
